Welcome, welcome everyone to another chapter of a Bad Moon Rising.
In which, Harry goes for a walk through the woods.
On with the show.
Harry Potter.
Harry's boots sank into the snow and dead leaves with a satisfying crunch as he walked. It was almost picturesque in the forest, with the snow and the frost on the trees, at least it would have been, if not for the woman walking with Harry.
She had shed the visage of mortality she wore around the halls of Wizengamot and other mortals, baring her true, inhuman visage. Everything was sharp about her once more, finally reminding Harry why the boy back in the dueling hall was off to him. Her hair danced and drifted as if she were moving underwater, her movements were inhumanly graceful, and her eyes were the abyss that stared back at you. Her robes had melted into a sleeveless and strapless black dress of smoke and shadows, dancing as she walked across the ice and snow barefoot without leaving a trace of her steps. It was more than a little off-putting to watch for Harry, especially since The Morrígan had yet to state the price of her help.
She had shown back up with the healer not five minutes after leaving and told Harry to follow her through the mist before they arrived in the forest. Hades, Harry didn't even know where they were, just that it was a forest.
"Soooo," Harry begins, speaking for the first time since they entered the woods some twenty minutes ago. "Where are we exactly?" he asks.
"We are technically in the Forest of Dean, a few kilometers north of Bristol and east of King Arthur's cave," The Morrígan answers easily before falling silent once more as the wind blows through the trees carrying with it a putrid smell. The chill of winter caresses the back of Harry's neck like icy claws making him shiver and curse himself for not bringing a scarf along with him.
"And what are we doing here?" Harry asks as he tries to snuggle deeper into his jacket to try and keep the cold out.
The Morrígan rolls her eyes. "Who are you? The bridgekeeper?" she asks, turning her head to look slightly behind her to see Harry shivering a bit in the wind. "Are you asking me your questions three?" she says with her voice full of sarcasm while wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly.
"What?" Harry asks, his face twisting in confusion as he looks at the Queen of Winter. "No, I just wanted to know why we're here," he asks with a sigh and his breath escapes in white puffs.
"Why do you think we're in a seemingly random stretch of woods, Harry?" The Morrígan asks with a roll of her eyes before her fingers twitch and the shadows of the trees jump to around Harry's neck, causing him to flinch and grab at them only to find they had formed a scarf. It was as soft as crow feathers and as deep and dark as night, the silk-like material was a warm fire around his neck as he mumbled thanks to the Morrígan.
Harry pulls the scarf up over his lips to protect them from the harsh cold winds that find their way through the barren trees before he speaks. "Releasing the rest of the De Danann," he answers simply as The Morrígan makes a sound of agreement. Harry's eyes flick to the left, trailing after the long shadows of the trees before snarkily muttering, "what's the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?" with a bit of snark.
"What was that?" The Morrígan asks as her head snaps around to look at Harry with narrowed eyes.
"Nothing!" Harry says cheerily with a smile hiding beneath the scarf as the Morrígan sends him a half-hearted glare. She continued to glare at Harry for a moment, but Harry did his best to look as innocent as possible back at her, before turning back to the path that she was following.
"But do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Harry asks, sounding a bit unsure of himself, and is surprised when The Morrígan shrugs.
"By all means, ask what you wish, Harry. If I didn't want you to talk I would have gagged you," The Morrígan stated dismissively.
"Right, so, just to be sure, we are going to free the rest of the De Danann and you're not leading me to some rape cave you own, right?" Harry asks, not trusting any vague sound coming from the goddess ahead of him for an actual answer.
The Morrígan stopped and turned to Harry with a look of bafflement on her face, "How in the name of Oberon do you know about my rape cave?" she asks, suddenly causing Harry to stop dead in his tracks with a look of terror on his face.
"YOU HAVE ONE OF THOSE!?" Harry yells, his voice echoing around the forest, "I SAID THAT AS A JOKE! Why in the name of Aphrodite's pin-up shoot do you have a rape cave!?"
"I prefer to call it my non-con cavern actually, and if you don't think Zeus doesn't have one, you're crazier than you seem, boyo," She tells Harry with an amused smirk on her face.
"I don't care who else has one, I care that you have one at all!" Harry shouts while throwing his hands into the air as The Morrígan chuckles at his reaction.
"Harry, I'm fae, I tend to indulge in all types of dark and depraved acts. Besides, there hasn't been a single mortal that has walked into that cavern that didn't know exactly what they were getting into," she says with a vicious and dark smile before turning back around and continuing to walk down the unseen path to Harry.
Harry stood, dumbstruck at her words, and watched the Morrígan walk away before snapping out of it and jogging to catch back up. "You mean people actually like that stuff?" Harry asks in a shocked voice as he looks up at The Morrígan as her eyes shift to him with her smirk never leaving her face.
"Oh, yes. Some find the loss of control to be very enticing, so who am I not to let them imbibe in such dark delights," she says with her smirk growing a bit more as she folds her hands behind her back as she walks. "But, to answer your original question, yes. We are freeing the last two De Danann," she says with a nod of her head.
Harry lets out a relieved sigh. "Okay, good. I didn't want to visit your rape-" Harry begins to say before the Morrígan speaks again.
"Non-con cavern," She corrects him.
"Whatever you want to call it! I don't want to visit it. Ever," Harry tells her with finality to his tone as the Morrígan chuckles at his words.
"Are you sure?" The Morrígan asks Harry, her eyes narrowing at him and her smile becoming something dark and voracious. "You never know, you might just like it," she says.
"I doubt that I would like being raped," Harry says flatly as they continue to walk.
"Oh? Who said you would be the one being raped?" The Morrígan asks curiously, her eyes glinting in the light of the overcast sky. "Why can't you be the one doing it?" she asks as Harry makes a disgusted face at her. She rolled her eyes at the look Harry was giving her. "You are far too sheltered, Harry. You should come past the Hedge for a weekend, and enjoy yourself, I can even promise you a safe return without any loss of time for you," The Morrígan offers with a hint of a smirk as Harry continues to glare at her.
The Morrígan lets out an unladylike snort and shakes her head. "You are no fun, Harry," she says with a roll of her eyes and a sigh. To Harry, it sounded like the rattling of the cupboard door being wrenched open in the early morning hours. Harry turns away from the goddess, intent on not looking at her as his eyes scan the trees watching the shadows.
He grabs the scarf that had fallen from his mouth and pulls it back up over his nose to keep his face warm. "You know we're being followed, right?" Harry asks softly, almost a whisper over the sharp cold winds that whip through the trees.
"Oh, I'm aware," The Morrígan says back softly. "But they won't come any closer," she tells Harry, sounding as if the monsters trailing behind them were no true worry.
"How do you know that?" Harry asks with a tilt of his head.
"Because they know better," The Morrígan says with a slight growl to her voice causing a chill to shoot up Harry's back as the winter around him seems to get colder.
"What are they? The Fomorians, that is. Fuamnach called them demons, I think," Harry states as they continue to walk the unseen path that the Morrígan was following.
"And she isn't too far off the mark," The Morrígan says airily while waving her hand as if to brush the remark aside. "But, if you wish for a more technical definition of what they are, they're simply fear made manifest," she informs Harry, but does nothing but confuse him.
"What do you mean by that?" Harry asks, sounding lost as he follows behind the Queen.
"You know that the collective belief of mortals can change and shape us gods, yes?" The Morrígan asks while looking back at Harry, who nods at her words. "Well, fear is much like belief, and in rare cases can manifest in such monstrous forms as cyclopes, giants, and sea serpents. This is also true here, but what manifested was far more terrible than a few monsters in the dark thanks to those native to the isle thinking anything greater than them was either a fairy or a god," she explains as they walk through the woods.
"So, the Fomorians are gods?" Harry asks, raising a brow.
"Hmm, no, they're more like the Titans. While, yes, they have access to divine domains and thus are extremely powerful and dangerous, they are not gods," The Morrígan goes on, moving her hands as she spoke and began to explain the De Danann's ancient enemy to him. "They are, in essence, the fears that are most deeply ingrained in humanity. The kind that most mortals instinctively flinch away from, the dark, plague, being watched, mindless violence, drowning, and that sort," she informs Harry as she continues to waltz down the path.
Harry himself slows down as a thought hits him. "The Hunt is one of them, isn't it?" Harry asks and watches as The Morrígan slows down to a stop before turning back to him with her cruel smile.
"Goll, The Barghest. The Fomorian of the Hunt," The Morrígan tells Harry, her smile never faltering as she looks at him. "If memory serves me correctly, Goll and Cernunnos used to fight all the time, even in times of peace, always trying to kill one another. It's in their very nature to try to kill what they see as an invasive predator to their territory," she says as she turns and continues down the snowy path.
"You feel it too, don't you? The want. The need. To fight and kill me, to pin me down and fuck me?" Fleur had whispered to him in the champion tent over a year ago as she too fought against the primal nature of the beasts that held claim to their minds and wants. This was apparently a universal truth across all of those who were affected by the ancient domain to fight, kill, and feed it whenever they would come across something like it. Harry frowns at the thought; the last few months without the Hunt had shown him just how… peaceful his life could be without the constant headache, without the enhanced senses, without the need from the domain. But now, with it flooding back into him, Harry couldn't help but feel relieved at having it return.
What was also frustrating was the fact that he didn't know if that was him feeling it or the Hunt projecting it.
Harry sighs into the scarf. "What about the ones following us? Or the Dementors and Mr. Longarms?" Harry asks, trying to refocus on the task at hand.
"They are… lesser than the true Foromrians," The Morrígan says, her face shifting like broken ice or a shifting snow drift as she searches for the right word. "But they are cut from the same cloth, fear that is. Think of them as small, personal fears of mortals that have been fed over time and growing more and more powerful with each passing year until they begin to materialize," she says as her face shifts between disgust and hatred in equal measure. "The stranger you thought you knew, the watcher who sees you in pain but does nothing to help, or the duck that secretly watches you. They aren't as powerful as the Fomorians that they spawned from but they are dangerous to anything mortal," she tells Harry as the boy frowns.
"But the Foromians were sealed away, how can the small ones come about?" Harry asks, before pausing. "What was that about a duck?" The Morrígan just chuckles.
"Just because the most powerful of them were sealed doesn't stop fear, Harry. Just like when we were sealed away it did not stop the circle's worship and prayers from reaching us," The Morrígan explains with a shrug. "And much like faith and worship, one can not remove fear easily from mortal minds," she says softly.
Harry frowns in thought. The Fomorians were monsters, he was sure of that. They lived in the cracks and edges of civilization picking off mortals one by one to feed themselves and grow bloated and grotesque on the fears and pain of normal people. It was enough to set Harry's teeth grinding and the cold raw anger set under his skin to flare up once more. He had enough of monsters terrorizing people who couldn't defend themselves, he had dealt with it all his life and refused to let others go through the same thing that he and Delphini had to live through.
With his mind made up, Harry pulls Serpent-Hunter from his pocket and begins to reach for the tap in his mind. "Anything I should know about them other than not letting them hit me?" Harry asks as he stops walking.
The Morrígan stops and turns to look at him with a raised brow. "Don't let them look you in the eyes, it's how they can see your fear, and if they're anything like the greater Fomorians they'll like to talk. I'd advise you to shut them up quickly," she informs Harry as she stops just a few feet away from him. Harry nods once before turning the tap in his mind and feels the power of the Hunt flood his body. It felt as if an old friend had returned after a long absence. Harry felt his eyes morph, his senses sharpen, and the primal growl of the domain entered his mind. Ever hungry and eager for the kill.
There is an explosion of snow and ice from where Harry once stood. The Morrígan's eyes widened at the sheer speed that the boy had moved; she had heard about how fast Harry was from Fuamnach when they had gone to free the first of the De Danann. But words had failed to convey just how swiftly Harry could move, he was faster than Cú Chulainn in his prime. The Morrígan's eyes track Harry as he dashes through the trees and snow drifts toward the first of the Fomorians. By the time Harry slams feet-first into the trunk of the tree, just above the first Fomorian, the silvery-red spear of Dún Scaith was unfolded and eager for bloodshed.
The Fomorian turns, much too slowly, to look at the boy. It was a boated thing of sloughing flesh over a thick frame, with random patches of exoskeleton almost like a centipede sticking out at random parts of the monster's pale green flesh. Its eyes lock on to Harry, all six of them, and widen as Harry swings his spear. The Fomorian doesn't even get to scream before the spear bisects its head.
"One," The Morrígan hears Harry growl out before kicking off the tree and shooting forward across the forest. That is when the second Fomorian rises from the fresh snow, made of root and bark and mist that was Regan the Lonely's power. It was no wonder the boy had picked up that they were being followed so quickly, with the fear of the cupboard he was locked in for so long rattling in the back of his mind.
The Fomorian screams at the oncoming blur before slamming the four hands that sprout from its body like branches from an ancient tree to the forest floor. Roots and thorns burst from the earth and snow like a mockery of the druid craft that her children once used centuries ago. Poisonous barbed hooks try to impale Harry before he brings his arms up and together to shield himself from the attack. The stakes of wood and thorns slam into the protective jacket Harry wore, skidding off the side of the leather as he crashes through it. Harry lands in a crouch and slides across the icy forest floor as he draws back his spear, intent on taking the heart of the Fomorian that was the fear of being lost in the woods with a single strike. The creature rears up, its arms extended to capture and ensnare Harry but once more the boy proves too quick as the barbed blade finds a home in the middle of the Fomorian's chest. It snarls at Harry, its wooden mask-like face dripping thick black sap-like spittle down its cracked chin as it tries to wrap Harry into a bear hug.
Harry bends his knees and lets go of his spear to jump clean over the monster. He flicks his wrist and summons his wand to his hand, aiming the red hot tip at the Formorian's head from above in mid-flip while yelling "Ignis!"
The focused blast of fire and heat erupts from his wand and consumes the head of the monster in the woods. The Fomorian screams in horror and pain as it dies and is reduced to a steaming stagnant mire of seawater and brackish muck. Harry finishes his flip and lands on his feet, spinning away from what remains of his prey as he says "Two," his wand swings around and moves in a tight and controlled flourish. Layering charms on top of transfigurations as he aims right at the Morrígan. Iron chains rip themselves from the snow and earth, shooting forward with enough force to rip right through a tree. The chains were tipped with barbed spikes and flew through the air with unnerving accuracy.
The Morrígan's eyes widen for a fraction of a second before the iron chains fly right by her and a guttural inhuman scream rips through the forest. She turns to see a large almost harpy-like Fomorian of Conand the Vast become impaled on the iron spikes before it is dragged down to the earth. The Morrígan raises her hand to wipe the earth clean of the repugnant stain before her before a shadow overcomes it and Harry drops from above to impale the heart of the raven-headed monster on the ground with a growl of "Three," escaping his lips.
Demigods, no matter the pantheon they were birthed from, always embodied an aspect of their divine parent. The boy in front of The Morrígan was born from Artemis of the Olympians and thus gained her advantage against the monsters she famously haunted.
But it wasn't the aspect that he embodied.
No, Harry, her Harry, embodied something far closer to herself and Scáthach. Harry was the end of the hunt, the Promised End to the hunt. An aspect much closer to Terminus than it was to the ancient domain of the Hunt.
The Morrígans smile becomes wicked and cruel as she watches Harry rise above the now puddle of muck that was the slaughtered Fomorian.
She had chosen the perfect champion.
Harry Potter, thirty minutes later.
Harry stood in front of an ancient altar sitting deep within the Forest of Dean. Small stones dotted the flat earth found at the bottom of a wide ditch that formed a large circle around the altar. The oddest thing about this whole picture came two-fold for Harry.
One was in the dead of winter when ice and frost should cover the earth, killing anything even remotely alive. The frost and ice had melted away and fresh green grass grew from the earth as flowers began to bloom and the trees began to bud anew.
The second was the completely naked man standing in the middle of it all, stretching as if he had just gotten out of bed. He was only a head taller than Harry and looked only a year or two older with dirty blond hair that hung down to his chin with bright blue eyes. His face was round with baby fat and full of youth as his bones popped as he stretched, his eyes were bright and shining like sapphires that reminded Harry a little too much of a goddess that would remain nameless.
The boy, almost a man, takes a deep breath as he finishes stretching and closes his eyes. As he exhaled Harry could feel the warm wind of spring and summer wash over him as the being before him called the Spring with his very presence. As he opens his eyes, a wide friendly grin splits his face before throwing his arms wide.
"Stepmother!" He cries out to the Morrígan, who is standing in the ice and snow at the top of a hill. "It's lovely to see you again! How have you been?" he says before he begins to jog to climb up the hill that divided them, looking to capture the Morrígan in a hug.
The Morrígan scowls as the youthful boy runs up the hill towards her and with a twitch of her hand a sheet of ice appears right where his foot was coming down next. The boy slips and flies into the air backwards to land and roll arse over teakettle right back down the hill.
"For the love of Dana, put some pants on before you approach me, Aengus," The Morrígan says, frustration and discontent for the god before she enters her voice as she continues to scowl at Aengus.
Aengus lands on his ass at the bottom of the hill and rubs the back of his head as if the small fall hurt him. "Ah, just as loving and accepting as I remember you to be, stepmother," Aengus says with a sigh before standing up. "But do I have to? Is my glorious form not a work of art for all to behold? Even you?" He says with a grin and pride in his voice as he gestures to his nude form.
Harry had to give it to the god on that as he stood trying to look anywhere else but where the nude god was. The guy had a set of abs that you could grind meat on, a chiseled jawline, and looked like the statue of David come to life. In short, Aengus was hot, like Harry was beginning to question things about himself kinda hot.
Needless to say, Harry wasn't a fan, because it was once again reminding him of a certain goddess who shan't be named.
"I will freeze it off if you do not put on pants right this moment!" The Morrígan seethed with clenched teeth as she glared at Aengus.
"Fine, fine," Aengus says with a roll of his eyes before snapping his fingers. "There, is that better stepmother?" he asks as Harry hazards a peak before sighing a bit at the sight of the god in a pair of linen pants of gold and green.
"Much," The Morrígan says with a bit of a heated tone. "Now, your father is waiting for you in London, So why don't you-" The Morrígan begins to order the boy god before he scoffs at her.
"But you've yet to introduce me to the one who broke the seal, stepmother, and he is ever so blessed by fair Venus, which makes him a bit interesting," Aengus says with a grin as he turns to look at Harry. The god inspects Harry with a keen eye and a dreamy smile.
"Ven-Oh!" Harry says, confused at who Aengus is talking about before it hits him. Venus was the Roman form of Aphrodite, causing Harry to scowl at the thought of the goddess who shouldn't be named. "She didn't bless me, the bitch cursed me," Harry says, his scowl deepening as Aengus looks at him, the god's face morphing into a look of heartbreak.
"Is that how you see it?" Aengus asks sadly as he looks at Harry with sad eyes.
"What curse?" The Morrígan asks breathlessly, sounding as if she was barely holding back her emotions.
"This boy has been blessed by fair Venus, to love and know love to help heal the wounds of his heart," Aengus says as he walks over to him and inspects him up and down as he walks around Harry. A small sad smile never leaves his face as he does. "And before you ask, stepmother, no. I will not remove it from the boy," he says waving his hand at The Morrígan , who was in the middle of opening her mouth.
"Why not?" Harry immediately asks, watching the god as he moves around him. "If you can remove it, I would very much like it done," Harry says with his scowl never leaving his face as Aengus just shakes his head.
"We gods of love have an understanding with one another," Aengus says as he stops in front of Harry before crossing his arms and looking at the middle of Harry's chest with a frown. "We all are meddlers of the highest level due to our very nature, but we do not meddle in each other's affairs unless asked directly by the other. So, I doubt fair Venus would look favorably upon me if I did so," he states as he brings a hand up to his chin and runs his fingers across it as he leans forward to seemingly get a better look at Harry's shirt.
"More like she was a good fuck before she sealed you and you're hoping to bed her one more time," The Morrígan snaps at Aengus with a dark look on her face as she glares at the boy god.
Aengus turns back to The Morrígan with a glare of his own. "And what was I to do?" he snaps right back at her, "Father was already sealed by Mars and Bellona, and you were in talks with Juno about being sealed yourself," he tells The Morrígan as he throws his hands in the air. "So when fair Venus came to me in my meadow and offered a peaceful sealing and the sparing of my children's lives, to offer them mercy and protection in her bosom, why would I not take it?" Aengus says in a hard voice as he glares at The Morrígan.
"As I was considering her offer, it was then that your last prophecy reached my ears about a child who would free us, so yes, I took her offer then," Aengus continues to speak to the Morrígan with a glare, disrespect, and anger rolling off every word he spoke to her. "And so, we and our children celebrated and lay with one another as is our way before I was sealed with hope. I do not regret my actions or my choices when they spared my children from the sword, much like you did with yours," he says before turning back to Harry, anger etched deep on his face.
"A sacrifice was made for your life, in the name of the domain I serve, of Love, yes?" Aengus asks Harry as the Morrígan fumes and looks ready to eviscerate the younger-looking god.
Harry's fist clenched as the god brought up one of the things he never liked talking about but quickly nodded his head. "My mother," he supplies and watches as the anger melts off his face into a mournful-looking smile.
"Then blessed be you, Harry Potter, for with that sacrifice she had done something only I could do, and snatched your soul away from death's cold embrace in the name of love," Aengus says before raising his hand and placing it over Harry's heart. "And I hope one day that you will come to know that what you've been blessed with is not a curse. For love is a shelter that will help you weather any storm, a shield to defend you from all arrows, and a salve that heals all wounds. But also the chain that will keep the beast away from claiming all of you," he says softly before turning back to the Morrígan and dropping his hand.
"But beware this one," he says with a heated glare. "She is nothing but howling wind on a cold winter night, and worst yet, a hypocrite," he spits the last word like a curse at The Morrígan but she does nothing, says nothing as Aengus turns on his heel and vanishes in a spring breeze and red rose petals.
County Meath, Ireland.
The Morrígan hadn't spoken in the last five minutes. Her face was carved glacial ice to Harry, giving nothing but a cold and blank look as she walked down the hill to pull him through the darkness to another part of the isles. she said not a word as they arrived at the bottom of a snow-covered hill, nor when she wordlessly began to walk up it with Harry quickly following after. The sodden hill was difficult to walk up at first, as Harry tried to ask where they were, but The Morrígan didn't answer back as they made their way up.
Harry fell quiet as they made it to the top of the hill only to find a rock sticking out of the ground with a gravestone not too far away from it. "So, where the hell are we?" Harry asks, looking around from the top of the hill only to see fields of white as far as he can see.
The Morrígan, who was busy glaring at the stone, didn't say anything at first but let out a sigh. "We are at the Hill of Tara, where one of our sacred treasures should be," she says the last words in a growl that has Harry stepping away from the goddess as the air around her becomes colder.
"Okay, so what's the treasure?" Harry asks cautiously.
"The Lia Fáil," the Morrígan says coldly as her eyes begin to burn with a cold light. "It goes by many names, The Stone of Fál, the Stone of Destiny, the Singing Stone, but they are all the same thing. The stone that announces the ruler who bears the crown," she says as she walks over to the large stone sticking out of the ground. She walks around it, inspecting it for something as Harry shuffles in the snow and cold winds.
"Maybe it's broken?" Harry offers only for the Morrígan to look at him thoroughly unimpressed by his insight.
"Things like these can't be broken, Harry," The Morrígan informs him as she stops her walk around to shift her gaze over the snowy hills with a frown. "It's here. I can feel it, but…" she says trailing off as her eyes turn north and a frown forms on her lips. "Follow me," the Morrígan orders before she begins to walk back down the hill.
"Been doing that all day," Harry mutters under his breath before taking a look around. He didn't see anyone, no cameras either. Harry looked down the snowy hill one more time before smiling to himself and flicking his wrist.
The Morrígan was making her way to the Mound of the Hostages with her face set into a look of anger and frustration. Aengus' words drifted into her mind like a drill, her stepson had always been able to get on her nerves like no one else. His carefree attitude, his reluctance to pick up a weapon, and the fact that her beloved had raised him to godhood without asking her. However, she could freely admit that the last one was entirely on her, she was always petty about it. If her beloved wanted a son, all he needed to do was ask and she would gladly bear one for him, but no. He had chosen to take his favorite demigod son and raise him to godhood before Elcmar found out Boann had cheated on him.
The Morrígan wanted nothing to do with Aengus when he was born and thus had given the child to Fuamnach and Midir to raise. Her beloved had accepted this as a compromise so she would outright drown the brat in a fen. She and Aengus had never gotten along, him the spring and her the winter but they both knew how to be civil with one another for her beloved if nothing else. But the hatred was deeply ingrained into both of them, for life and death were always at odds with one another unless they had a stopgap between the two of the oldest domains.
But now her current problem was causing her already short temper to reach its boiling point. The Fia Fáil wasn't where it should be, it had been moved to somewhere close by, hidden away from mortal eyes for some reason. After Cú Chulainn had split the damn thing, they had sent one half to Scotland to be kept safe in case anything had happened to the other half. The half here in Ireland should have been safe per her deal with Juno all those years ago. Even Jupiter and Pluto, the two gods that fought against the last son of Dana, had agreed to leave the sites and relics that Tuatha De Danann were sealed in alone.
But someone hadn't.
The church over Lugh.
The Hut on the Rock over Manánnan.
The tunnels over the anvil of the Tri De Danann.
Dún Scaith was rebuilt over five hundred years after it fell.
Not to mention that every single one of the other seals was either a protected historical site or hidden away in a place that was not easily found by mortals.
No, this all stunk to high heaven of someone interfering and manipulating history to someone's benefit and she had a pretty good guess of who that someone was. Whispers had reached her ears about a lone divine in Haiti who went by a name that clutched at her heart like claws made of summer heat.
Before The Morrígan could go any further into her thoughts, a new sound reached her ears. "Yaaaaahwhooooo!" screamed Harry as she turned just in time to see the boy come screaming down the snowy hill, riding on his knees on a piece of metal. He zips past her and she turns to watch the boy get to the bottom of the hill before spinning up with a scream. He hits the next hill with too much momentum and it launches him through the air, as The Morrígan watches all of this her jaw drops and she admires the hang time the boy got before he started to fall with a scream.
"oooooh, shi-" Harry screams but is quickly cut off as he crashes into the snow out of sight of the Morrígan. She sighs before pinching the bridge of her nose.
Her Champion was an idiot.
Why was her champion an idiot?
"Was it too late to switch? I could still get Dumbledore as my champion, right? He did have that piece of The End as his wand, he was practically her champion already," The Morrígan thinks to herself as she walks over to where Harry crashed just to see him pop up from the powdery snow.
"I'm okay!" He calls out while raising a hand in the air.
"Has anyone told you that you're an idiot?" The Morrígan asks in a flat tone of voice as she walks over to Harry.
"...yes?" Harry says, sounding confused with his face scrunched up in confusion.
"Then they don't tell you enough," She tells him smoothly and watches as Harry's face crumples into an adorable kicked-puppy look. "Oh, don't give me that look, the temptation to tie you up and have my way with you is far too much," The Morrígan tells Harry as fear and horror flash over his face before he scrambles back to his feet. "Now, stop messing around and follow me, we have a stone to find," she tells him coldly before she continues on her way to the mound.
Harry Potter, five minutes later.
And find the stone they did. It was In a small cavern beneath the Hill of Tara with its entrance a hidden burial mound just a little ways away from the hill behind a false wall that had only opened in the presence of the divine, or so The Morrígan informed Harry. The stone wasn't all that impressive to Harry, it was made out of the same polished black slate that the ministry was made out of with golden Celtic knots engraved into it with a large crack running down its side. It was laid on top of a small silver altar with the face of a wolf carved into it with topaz for eyes that sent a bit of a shiver up Harry's spine when he looked at it.
The Morrígan had approached the stone hesitantly at first before placing her hand upon it and waited.
But it didn't make a sound.
"Maybe it's broken?" Harry once again offers but quickly shuts his mouth when The Morrígan turns to glare at him. He found the cavern walls very interesting after that as The Morrígan set up the offering bowl for the ritual. She walks over to Harry to take the hand that he had cut a finger open when freeing Aengus and pauses before drawing out the blood that she needs.
"Harry," The Morrígan says softly, catching Harry's attention with how she spoke, Full of worry and dread. "Whatever happens next, no matter what he says or does, do not react," She tells him, her black eyes piercing right through him as she spoke. "He is the last god I wanted to release for many reasons and I warn you now, he is the last one I want to cross, do you understand?" she asks, her tone was serious and as hard as steel causing Harry to swallow nervously, but he nods his head. She draws out three drops of blood that hover in the air above her hand as she walks over to the offering bowl sitting on top of the Fia Fáil and she drops them in as she begins to chant.
Silver and Crown,
Born of Dana's womb,
True born King with an arm of silver,
Bound in iron and blood,
Bound to the stone that sings your name,
Hear my cry and hear my plea,
Silver flames consume the bowl, sending sparks and light dancing in the cavern that begins to shake. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck begin to stand on end as something grips his heart and the sounds of howling wolves begin to fill the cavern.
I have come with shackler's blood,
To break you free,
By Ériu call,
Come claim thy throne,
By blood and Hunt,
Sunder thy enemies,
A sharp stab behind Harry's eyes causes him to take his head in both hands as he feels the Hunt flood him and crash through the door in his mind. He cries out in pain as the howling gets louder and louder, like a storm of baying hounds in the dark.
By Storm and Souls,
Come claim thy crown,
Silver arm forged from silver sword of burning light,
Come slay all those who contest,
With Silver and Blood!
I release you,
Oh, last son of Dana!
First King of the Hunt!
Thy kingdom awaits!
It was then that Harry realized that the howling wasn't coming from the cavern, it was coming from inside his mind. The Hunt was rampaging through him in excitement, it was like in the forest with Cernunnos. The Hunt had reacted to the freeing on one of its own just like it was doing here. But as Harry looks up, still holding his head from splitting in two, his eyes reflect the topaz set just below the stone, he watches as the offering bowl is burned to nothing but ash. A sharp crack shoots through his mind as Harry falls to his knees, trying to stuff the Beast back from his mind.
"Breath in through your nose and out through your mouth," Delphini's voice rang in his head as she was talking him through the beginning steps of meditation. "Focus on your breathing. Focus on my voice. And focus on what makes you, you," she told him in an empty classroom as they sat back to back.
"Focus on what makes you, you,"
The pounding of paws and hoofbeats on the forest floor.
Cold hands clawing at him.
The wind blows freely through the hills and valleys.
Soft whispers in his ear.
The smell of the deep woods and wild places where prey and predator tread.
Cold lips press against his scar.
Eighty souls singing out as one.
"That Love will chain the beast,"
"As much blame I could cast on you for being so damn loveable,"
"Remember what makes you human,"
"We are prey to nothing and no one,"
And Harry slams the cupboard door shut, trapping the beast and shunting it away.
The tap closed to nothing but a drip and Harry was finally able to breathe as he greedily drew in oxygen. After a moment he finally looks up to The Morrígan, only to find her looking behind him toward the door they had entered through. Her head was held high, but there was no mistaking the fear that flashed through her eyes. Harry slowly turns his head to look behind him to find they are no longer the only two in the small cavern.
He was hunched over and leaning on a walking stick that looked to be made out of dark oak and silver. His clothes were finely made of dark blue cloth and hung from his withered frame while his right arm was held in a sling that hung around his neck. Harry thought, for a moment, that he was wearing a gauntlet made of silver until he recognized it. He had seen it in a mural in the megatron under Sheffield, three smiths working on a silver arm. The cloak the old man wore was a deep green, almost like the one Strider once wore, but he was hemmed in gold that reflected the Celtic knots and crosses Harry had seen emblazoned on the skin of many of the De Danann. And while the hood was drawn up and his head pulled deep into it, Harry could make out the wizened face past the long gray beard that hung out of it.
A terrible scar ran from brow to chin on the right side of his face with a silver orb that replaced the eye that was no doubt lost due to whatever struck him. But it was the other eye that caught Harry's attention, a burning amber cat's eye that was looking right at him.
It was then that The Morrígan did something Harry had thought she would never do.
She knelt before the old man with her head bowed.
"Hail the king of the Tuatha De Danann, Hail the first king of the wild hunt, hail the brother in oath to king and creator, Lord Oberon," she says before looking up to the old man. "Hail King Nuadha Airgetlám, the last son of Dana," the Morrígan says before bowing her head again as the singing stone begins to cry out at the return of the king.
Chapter done!
Oh, no. Looks like Grandpa is home and he forgot his Alzheimer's Medication!
Anyway, I hope the explanation of the Fomorians was easy to follow and understandable.
Yes, The Morrígan wants Harry as her champion and yes, she was having buyer's remorse as soon as she thought it.
But the reason that one of the Domains that Nuadha belongs to was blocked out was because it's the Hunt. Now you have to understand that Nuadha is an old god, he was old when Zeus and the gods overthrew Kronus, He was old when Kronus did the same thing to his dad. Nuadha is practically a primordial of the Hunt and that's why it went ape shit in Harry's head when he was so close to Nuadha.
And to someone as old as Nuadha, a crown is just a formality.
Kingsaxcul, out!